Return
by totalgeek42
Summary: Sherlock's side of my other story, "Empty".


Three-hundred sixty-five days, sixteen hours, twelve minutes, and approximately seventeen seconds. Seven hours, forty-seven minutes, and approximately thirty-three seconds, by now, until it has been exactly one leap year since I last spoke to him. He will remain asleep for approximately two more hours – he's started waking up later, since I left, so that where he once would have been awake already, he is now sleeping until approximately nine-thirty every day. He will remain in bed for another half-hour, until he hears who he expects to be Mrs. Hudson preparing tea for him. Milk, no sugar.

My phone goes off. Mycroft, naturally.

_Everything's been taken care of. The last strands have been dusted away._

_Mycroft Holmes_

How nice of you to tell me, brother dearest. You must think I've gotten slow, to think it's necessary to inform me. I know you're a man of your word, when it comes to business, at least.

He won't forgive me. His undying loyalty has been the only reason I saw to continue working from the shadows. It would have been faster, had I told the world I was alive. I hardly needed speed – what were a few more months? All of the people affected wouldn't be missed, given eighty years. Nobody would be alive to remember them. He won't understand that until he's given me time to explain – which he won't.

I'll wait to have tea until I can have it with him. Coffee doesn't taste as good, but it has caffeine. The man next to me is a smoker – nicotine stains on his fingers, jittery. Textbook. John will be proud of me – surely he's not too thick to understand I stopped for him.

It's been twenty-six minutes. Phone alert. Lestrade.

_So I assume no cases today? Big day? Donovan will be disappointed._

He means good luck.

_Tell her hello from the freak._

_-SH_

Three-hundred sixty-five days, seventeen hours, two minutes, and approximately forty-two seconds since I had to destroy him. He lost ten and a half pound sin the first three months and since then has regained thirteen. He hasn't taken a job, his attempts at courting have failed, and he barely has friends – only Lestrade and Stamford. He spends an average of ten hours a night sleeping. Sometimes he doesn't sleep at all. He's left my chair and my bed untouched. He stopped talking to my grave after two months – ran out of things to say. I haven't heard his voice since.

It's taken a year to break up the web. I've traveled the world, always coming back here between. My brother's helped me as much as possible, without moving. He took care of the last threads and told Lestrade. I'll have to visit Lestrade tomorrow.

The pair walking past me think they're in love – they giggle at each others' every word. They get closer to each other by an average of two millimeters with each step. They'll last about another month.

I disliked watching him from a distance. I had to. He had to be safe. No. Safe is a relative term. He wasn't safe. His health deteriorated and he stopped speaking to people he didn't have to. If he were anybody else, I wouldn't have trusted him alone. He needed to be kept alive. I needed him to tell me off for not apologizing, again. He needed to continue until I could tell him that I was alive.

In approximately an hour and a half, he will punch me, walk out of our – his – flat, and never speak to me again.

I hand her a note: "Tell those who have or will work for him that SH is back. Tips will be just as large as before." I include money. "Thank you, sir." The news will spread fast. My news network will be restored before I see John again.

Text alert.

_Good luck! Tell John I say hello!_

_Molly_

_Unlikely it will come up._

_-SH_

_You told Molly._

_-SH_

_Yeah well, you know, figured she had a right to know_

_-Lestrade_

_Not before John._

_-SH_

Wise of him not to respond.

I have an hour left.

I will tell Mrs. Hudson first – if Mycroft hasn't already.

At least this time I won't have to keep out of sight. He may not want to speak to me, but I won't have to hide.

_You're right – I have warned Mrs. Hudson._

_Mycroft Holmes_

At least the worst of it will be done with. No fainting, no shock, no expecting me to be a ghost. I'll only have to deal with John.

221b. John will be waking up. I walk in and knock on Mrs. Hudson's. "Sherlo-"

"Sh. He can't hear me, yet."

I huge her. The first contact I've had in just over a year. Her pulse is up – she's still surprised. She expected Mycroft to be lying. She's been alone for a year, just doing her best to take care of John. One of many.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, leaving him alone like that."

"Surely you understand how little say I had in the matter."

"I know, dear, it just seems so unfair."

"To which of us?"

"How about a biscuit, dear?"

"No thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I'd rather wait."

I'll give it ten more minutes.

Most of the mugs in this kitchen were last used by John – Mrs. Hudson has smaller fingers, grayer hairs, and no fabrics that colour. Her friends all leave smaller lip-prints. I find myself wanting tea before I go upstairs.

"He'll be glad to see you, you know."

"I don't know that glad is the right word. I rather need a cup of tea. Excuse me, Mrs. Hudson."

I put my scarf on the doorknob. My coat goes on my chair. The kettle is boiling withing five minutes. I pour tea, put milk in both and sugar in neither. It would be better for me to walk into the room after he has. I go into the hallway.

I walk up behind him. He didn't sleep well last night. His body is stiff, his hair a mess, and his stance tired. He fingers his mug, waiting for Mrs. Hudson to return.

"I hope you still take your tea the same way – it has been a year."

I see his eyes for the first time in almost a year. I was right – he hates me. But there's joy, too. I feel myself relax. I didn't tell myself to.

"Sherlock-"

I catch him. I feel more safe than I have in not quite a leap year. His weight in my arms is a comfort. The flat is warm and inviting. I'll need to re-establish my lab, but everything else looks perfect.

"This must be what it feels like to have missed someone."

"I missed you too, Sherlock."

He shifts.


End file.
